


Light Pollution.

by blckpnk



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Romance, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:52:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9217526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blckpnk/pseuds/blckpnk
Summary: Frank and Meechum relieve the tension that's been growing for months.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first smut (if this can even be called that) so please be nice lol.
> 
> this isn't beta'd, all mistakes are mine.

Edward Meechum had always been told that dreams do not come true, which was a rather harsh statement, but it was what he had been told. Coming from a military father, and then joining the military himself, he had that phrase drilled into his head until it left a imprint on his brain. 

But there was one night that his dreams did come true, which led to many nights after that. Let me be the one to tell you that story. 

Late at night, when the only sound is his neighbours TV blasting Wheel of Fortune through the thin walls, and his curtains are pulled tight. Meechum lets his mind wander. To all the places that he would never allow himself during the day. 

If he lays still enough, breathes quiet enough. It happens, he can feel a pair of strong hands drifting down his sides, a pair of rough lips attached to his neck. A warm body pressed above his. 

Then he can see Frank, he can see that its his hands gripping his hips, hard enough to leave fingerprints. His mouth leaving bruises too high up to cover with his collar, a knee between his legs letting him have complete control of the other. 

He does this every night, its become a habit of sorts. It’s like an imaginary story that keeps continuing in his mind, he even imagines the small things, like how Frank’s hands always grip his hair when he’s between his legs, and how he like’s it when Ed calls him sir in bed, how his hand’s tremble when he finishes. 

But he knows how differentiate reality from imaginary, so when his hand slips back out of his waist band, and he’s feeling as boneless and lonely as ever, he lets the thought slip from his memory, he locks them away, until the next night. 

This goes on for months, he thinks nothing of the lingering touches and the soft stares that Frank gives him, doesn't notice the special treatment. 

This postpones the mind boggling moment where his late night fantasies turn into early morning actualities, but eventually it happens. 

Frank Underwood, had of course, thought of the possibility that Meechum was just ignoring his flirtatious gestures, or that he wasn’t into older men/men in general, or just the fact he wasn’t into him. But the thought flared and faded, and left him with determination. Because when he wanted something, he got it. That was how it had always been, and how it would continue to be. 

So, when Claire announced she was flying to Paris for some event that he couldn't care to remember, the perfect time to strike arrived. 

It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it, the clock had stuck midnight a while ago, but Frank was still awake, and that meant so was Meechum. They were outside, Edward perched carefully on the edge of a metal chair, scanning the night sky, and watching the smoke billow from the cigarette resting between Frank’s lips, that he was only half jealous of. 

The night is buzzing with the distance sounds of the city, and it’s lulling Edward to sleep. He count’s the stone tiles on the ground, 31 in total, he count’s the amount of puffs it takes for Frank’s cigarette to be snuffed in the ash tray. Just so he doesn't let the heaviness in his eyelids win. They don’t talk, and that’s just how it is. 

Ever since the newly installed fire alarms went off, and everyone rushed to the upstairs rooms ready to put out a fire and all they found was Frank puffing out the window into the night, he’s been made to go outside, and so the tradition started. Once it’s dark, and he’s sure that prying neighbours wont notice the grey smoke curling up from his yard, out they go. Edward never even thought to question why Frank only takes out him, and no one else. 

“I can feel how tired you are from over here.” He says, smoke leaving his lips, curling into the night. He flicks his ash onto the ground. “You can go back inside, if you’d like. I’m sure there’s not going to be any threats in my own backyard.” 

Edward stifles a yawn, and shuffles in the chair. There was nothing he wanted more then to go home, and climb into his bed and dream about the way Frank’s lips curled around the filter. But he doesn’t rest until the Vice-President does, and thats just the way it is. 

“Wouldn’t forgive myself if I succumbed to my tiredness and you suffered for it, Sir.” He mumbles, his words intended to come out proud, but end up falling soft when a yawn leaks in between the words. 

Frank light’s another one, and Edward tilts his head up to stare at the milky darkness, he wonders what the stars would look like, if the bright light’s hadn’t wiped them from the sky. 

“Light pollution’s a bitch, isn't it?” Frank says, blowing a cloud of smoke toward’s Meechum, watching his face wrinkle as he tries to wave it away. Edward just makes a noise of acknowledgement, eyes still trained on the sky. 

They sit there for another ten minutes, until the metal legs of Frank’s chair scape against the stone, and he’s up taking long strides towards the house, and Meechum’s up too, feet dragging as he shuffles across the lawn. 

Frank stops a few steps from the door, and Meechum, brain delayed from the need for sleep, trips into the back of him.

“Sorry Sir.” Meechum utters, stepping back to steady himself. 

Frank turns around and meets eyes with the fumbling Secret Service agent, and finds the embarrassed glow on his cheeks the most endearing thing he seen in a while. So, he does the thing he had been wanting to do for the longest of times, and takes a step forward, until he was toe to toe with Meechum.

Frank touches his elbow so light that he can barely feel it. The air between them is still with tension, and he leans into the hand now placed more solidly, fingers now wrapping round and pressing into the skin.

Frank watches him with interest, as he takes some of the tired weight and places unto him, no hesitation, just trust. 

“You know, Meechum. Out of all the people who work for me, you’re the only one who doesn't bore me to tears.” Frank says softly, voice hushed like there were other people around to hear them. 

Edward breaths in, and meets the Vice-President’s eyes. His mouth opens, but he realizes he has no words to pass through his teeth. So he shuts it again, and Frank eases his hand off Edward’s elbow, and brings it up to rest on his cheek. His thumb brushes lightly over Edward’s bottom lip as he splays his hand out, and Edward makes up for the loss of support from the elbow by pushing his face into his hand lightly. 

He wonders for a moment if this is actually a sickeningly life-like dream, but when he hears a car starting in the distance, he realizes that even with his impressive imagination, he could never imagine the creases and lines in Frank’s face, the roughness of his palm, and the carefulness of his touch. 

They just stand together like that for a moment, breathing together, Frank searches Meechum’s eyes for any inkling of a doubt, and when he finds only hope, he presses his lip’s gently to the side of Edward’s mouth. 

He inhales so sharply that Frank pulls back a bit hesitant, but Edward presses forward and pulls the older man closer, and the gentle press of lips is back. 

His eyes flutter closed ad he tilts his head to connect their lips together fully, nervous, awkward, movements match well with Frank’s slow, sleepy ones. Edward bring’s one arm up to rest on Frank’s shoulder, the other tries to follow suit, but lands on his bicep when a tongue gently works his mouth open. 

He gasps gently into the older’s mouth, and the butterflies are fluttering so hard in his stomach that he’s kind of afraid he’s going to be sick with excitement, or nerves, or both. 

A hand is grabbing at his waist, and the kiss is soft and explorative, nothing more is asked, and nothing less is offered.

For a terrifying moment, he looks at this from an outside perspective. 

He’s kissing the Vice-President, who has a wife. Plus he’s also kissing his boss. But Frank’s leg makes itself home between his, and the only thing left in his mind is the ringing in his ears and his growing need for oxygen. 

Frank squeezes his hip lightly, and steps back. Edward makes a breathy sound of disagreement, and the only touch that connects them is the gentle press of Frank’s fingertips on Edward’s cheek. So light he can barely feel it. 

“Would you like to come upstairs with me, Edward?” He asks, his voice unusually gentle. 

Through his oxygen deprived haze, he nods, probably a little too fast, probably a little to excitedly. Because before he knows it, he’s being taken by the hand and led to the bedroom. 

He stumbles up the stairs with giddiness, but when they’re on the homestretch, the Bedroom door just down a little on the right, he finally gets it through his thick skull that Frank Underwood just asked him to bed, and he had said yes. 

Now as much as Edward hated to admit it, he wasn’t as adventurous in his sexual endeavours as he depicted in his fantasies, a few girlfriends in high school that hardly went anywhere, and two boyfriends in the army that only happened to be gay for the stay. Not much for him to go on. 

Lucky for him, he had decided in a moment that he would forget about all that, and just go jump in the sack with who else but Frank Underwood. 

The bedroom door flings open, and he’s gently coaxed into the room with a softness that Edward didn’t even know was possible from the older man. The door shuts behind him, and this is it, this is where he’s dreamed about being, and this is where he is now. 

Frank fans his fingers out across Edward’s cheek, thumb brushing across his bottom lip again, he’s about to lean in when words worm their way out of Edward’s mouth. 

“I’ve never been with a man-“ He blurts, a little panic present in his voice.

Frank stills, his touch becomes so light that it’s barely there, and Meechum curses himself for having no filter. Frank opens his mouth but Edward speaks again. 

“I mean I have but- Not-“ He can’t bring himself to finish, but it doesn't matter, because Frank just brushes his thumb over Edward’s lip again, and leans forward, lips millimetres from his. 

“s’not a problem for me.” And then he connects their lips again, and Edward doesn't even realize they’re moving until his knees hit the foot of the bed, and he falls back onto the soft comforter. 

His awe allows himself to be pliant under Frank’s hands, and soon he’s out of his suit and breathing heavy, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. 

Frank’s teeth graze the skin just under his nipple, and he lets out a breathy moan, his first one of the night, and the realization is brought with the unspoken promise that it wouldn't be the last. 

Then just as he thought Frank had moved on down his body, the sharp sting of teeth prove him wrong, and he automatically arches into the ache. 

As quick as it happened, Frank’s moved on, now sucking a bruise into his hip, and he brings his hand to touch the tender skin and feels the groove of teeth implanted on the skin, the thought of being marked in places he only can see sends a wave of arousal through him, it doesn't go unnoticed. 

Soon, Frank’s working him open, and he's warm with the intimacy of it all. One leg is propped on Frank’s shoulder, the other’s heel digging into the comforter under him. He’s overwhelmed with how slow and easy Frank was taking this, it was endearing in the best of ways. 

After drifting off to the bathroom for a condom, which somehow made Edward blush harder then having him between his legs did, he feel’s large hands spreading his legs apart and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Doing okay?” He purrs, hand’s massaging the soft flesh of his thighs, and Edward moans again and nods. Then he throws his head back against the pillow, and screws his eyes shut.

Frank goes slow, waiting until Edward starts rocking back against him, waiting for his pained moans to turn to pleasured mews, soon they develop a rhythm, and the headboard hit’s the wall behind them. 

Edward relishes in submitting fully to the man above him, the friction of his back on the sheets and his cock sliding between their stomach’s is sending him into a state of bliss that he could never have come close to imagining. 

He’s overheating with the pleasure that’s rippling through him, breaths shallow and quick. Edward’s skin prickles with goosebumps when he opens his eyes to see the man above him staring back down. He gasps for air. 

He comes with a moan loud enough to wake the neighbours, and Frank comes soon after, with a groan into the nape of Edward’s neck. They stay like that for a moment, and Frank presses a kiss to Edward’s collarbone before pulling out and padding to the bathroom, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth. 

Edward feels warmth, and bliss. 

Edward’s half asleep as the damp cloth passes over his stomach, and the gesture is so heartwarming that he wonders if his heart is going to burst right then and there. He cracks one eye open just enough to see Frank concentrating on cleaning him, and he smiles. 

The last thing he remembers before he succumbs to sleep, feeling boneless but not a bit lonely, was a arm wrapping around his waist. 

The first thing he thinks when he wakes up, with the same arm wrapped around his waist was that dreams do come true.


End file.
